


Spoilt Brat

by Run_of_the_mill



Series: Unhealthy Relationship: We're Terrible for Each Other [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (ʘдʘ╬), Ain't no law of physics gonna stop me!, Deal With It, F/M, Fuck you Physics!, Harry is a spoilt AF brat, I hate physics anyways!, I'm not sure how i came up with this, It hates me too, M/M, My imagination defies the laws of physics, Rich people getting away with stuff, Their relationship is way fucked up, Tom and Harry are both not good people, Tom can't deal anymore, You don't exist in my imaginary land!, getting away with murder, who cares?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 17:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12869757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Run_of_the_mill/pseuds/Run_of_the_mill
Summary: By the time he got to the Weasleys’ rundown little hovel of a home in Ottery St-Catchpole, Tom was very much fuming. He was up at 0420, according to his watch despite the fact that he’d only fallen asleep at 2350-ish last night. His girlfriend was probably going to murder him when he got back home for disturbing her sleep and running off into the night without an explanation. And Harry fucking James Potter had made him complicit in a murder case. Life was damn beautiful and Tom couldn’t help angrily beating the crap out of his car wheel as he waited for his son-of-a-bitch of a best friend to fucking get out of that goddamn shack the Weasleys dared to call home. Fucking gravity-defying thing looked like it would collapse on top of his head any minute now. Tom thought he might even welcome it, if it meant getting away from Harry forever.





	Spoilt Brat

**Author's Note:**

> So... Welcome to this random-ass story. I'm not sure whether or not I'll continue it. It depends on how much attention it gets. But I feel like this is rather enough to be a one-shot. Bit of fun for me. I haven't really written much in the lemons' department. Hope I did it justice. Please comment below. Everything is a learning experience for me and I learn nothing if you say nothing. I'd really love your comments as they only help to make my writing better.

It was dark outside and Tom stuffed his head under the pillow, trying very hard to drown out his phone’s ringing. He idly mused that it could not even have been 0600 and that there was only one bastard indecent enough to call him at this time. After a while, it became rather clear that the phone would not stop ringing. Tom, rather mutinously, tossed his pillow aside. It hit Bellatrix square in the face and she rose with a start, floundering a little before glaring at him for waking her up. Tom gave her a one-finger salute and a sneer for having the audacity to sleep through the din his phone was making. She made to speak but immediately shut up as Tom answered his call.

  
_“What?”_ he barked into the speaker.

  
“Wow,” the caller answered, clearly amused. “Did I just cockblock you?”

  
“Wha- No,” Tom quickly said, flustered. The caller laughed in his ear and Tom let out an irritated growl. The little shit was doing it on purpose. “Whatever, hoe. What’s wrong?”

  
“What d’you mean?” the caller asked. “Can’t I call just because I want to hear your lovely voice?”

  
“Oh, fuck off, Harry,” Tom snapped. “You never call unless you want something or something’s wrong. And, judging by the time, something’s wrong.” Harry cleared his throat and stayed silent. Tom was about to tell him (more like yell at him) to just get on with it because he wanted to just go the fuck back to bed, when the entitled bastard spoke again. And, _man,_ did Tom wish that he’d never spoken again. For the rest of his entire life.

  
“I think I may’ve killed someone,” he mumbled. And if Tom had been drinking something, that would’ve most certainly warranted his first ever spit-take. Or, at the very least, a dribble-dribble down his chin.

  
“Wut?” he asked, dumbly. Harry gave a long-suffering sigh.

  
“I think,” he said, slowly this time, as if Tom were some retarded child that needed a little more help than most, “that I may have killed someone. Y’know? Offed ‘em. Sent them to the great beyond. Davy Jones’ locker.”

  
“Okay, first of all,” Tom bit out, “Davy Jones’ locker is for people who die at sea. And second of all, your Royal Fuckery, how the _fuck_ do you manage to mess up in all the ways that a human can possibly fuck up?” By the end of the statement, Tom was quite positively shrieking into his phone. Bellatrix cast him the evil eye from her side of the bed and he bowed his head in apology before beating a hasty retreat from their shared bedroom.

  
“Er… dunno,” Harry managed. “I was piss-ass drunk and driving?”

  
“Is that a fucking question or are you telling me?” Tom asked, snidely, as he riffled through his drawers full of legal documents, trying to find a miraculous solution to Harry’s little problem. He quickly gave up on the drawers and moved on to his textbooks from law school. “I can’t bloody find my criminal law stuff!”

  
“Aight, bitch, breathe,” Harry commanded from the other side of the line.

  
“Fuck you, you man-whore,” Tom snapped. “I’m a goddamn business lawyer. This is _not_ what I signed up for when I agreed to work for your dad. I haven’t seen criminal law in decades!”

  
“Dude, you’re barely three decades old,” Harry said, lightly. “If that were true, did you start studying law when you were in your diapers?” Tom snarled but didn’t bother gracing the quip with a proper answer.

  
“Where are you, right now?” he asked instead.

  
***

  
On the other side of the line, Harry barely suppressed a snort. He was feeling giggly and he fully blamed the alcohol in his system for that. He also blamed Tom for getting hilariously panicked. Even if a policeman actually walked down the alley, Harry would probably still walk away scot free. Power of money and all that tripe. Harry had only called Tom to see how the young lawyer would react to this sort of situation. As the other man puttered around in his home office, Harry stood over what was probably the dead body of some homeless pleb. He nudged it with the tip of an expensive ankle-boot, one hand in his long-coat’s pocket, the other holding his phone. There was no movement and Harry was fairly certain the guy was dead. Tom was doing his best impression of a banshee in his ear. He eventually kicked into professional mode, asking Harry where he was.

  
“Standing over the dead body and poking it with my foot to see if it might be alive,” Harry drawled. He could already imagine Tom popping a vein or two. As it was, the lawyer remained more or less calm.

  
“Is he?” he asked. “Still alive, I mean? Did you call 911?”

  
“No and no,” Harry answered, lazily. “I couldn’t risk the media getting involved.”

  
“Are there people around? Has anybody seen you?”

  
“Nah. I’m in a dark-ass back alley. No idea how my car even fit in here. Don’t ask me. My luck defies the laws of physics.” Tom gave a sigh and muttered something that sounded vaguely like ‘wish I was lucky enough, you’d drop dead’. Harry chuckled at the mutiny. Tom tried to hide it because Harry was his boss’ son and was the one who had gotten the lawyer such a high-profile position as his first employment, but every now and then, his true feelings about the young man shone through. Oh, Harry was sure Tom liked him well enough. They’d grown up together and had done near every stupid thing possible with each other. That sort of relationship didn’t come without some amount of affection. But that didn’t stop the lawyer from calling Harry a spoilt brat when he thought the young heir couldn’t hear. And Harry didn’t take offence because he shamelessly admitted that it was utterly and irrevocably true.

  
“What’re you doing there, anyways?” Tom asked.

  
“I’ve a pleb friend, living ‘round here,” Harry answered carelessly. “Ron Weasley. You might’ve heard about him.”

  
“Eww,” came the immediate answer. “What’re you doing associating with those dirt-poor idiots? Don’t they have that gold-digger daughter that’s after you? Their only redeeming quality is their unbelievable fertility. I swear, in a few centuries, Britain will be overrun with Weasleys.”

  
“Aww, c’mon, Tom,” Harry said, “Ginny’s no gold-digger. For whatever reason, she’s actually in love with me. For real.” Tom snorted and Harry chuckled in agreement.

  
“How’d she end up falling for you? You’re a man-slut.” Tom asked, incredulously.

  
“That’s true!” Harry agreed cheerfully. Tom was probably rolling his eyes.

  
“Are you far from their place?” Tom asked, suddenly.

  
“Nah,” Harry answered. “Like 5 minutes on foot, tops. But I spent fifteen minutes in the car, wondering what to do before I called you.”

  
“How drunk are you?”

  
“Very.”

  
“Did they see you get into your car?”

  
“Nope. No one came to see me out.”

  
“Good God,” Tom said, disgusted. “Your luck is a miracle of nature. Just go back to their house and pretend that you’ve been searching for your car for the last fifteen minutes. Act drunk enough they’ll believe that you would spend all that time looking for a car instead of realising it’s been stolen.”

  
“So… You want me to pretend my car was stolen?”

  
“Don’t say anything about the car being stolen. Let them come to their own conclusions.”

  
“Got it. Anything else?”

  
“Yeah. Take your car’s black box and wipe your tracks in the snow if you think your shoe-prints are recognisable… Scratch that. Just wipe your tracks. Hide your face as you leave. Text me the address and to come get you, so we can explain why I’m there. We’ll get rid of your clothes, ASAP. I’ll get some people to try and make the body disappear. But, just in case it’s discovered before they can, we don’t want anyone to track it back to you.”

  
“Got it. See you soon,” Harry chirped.

  
***

  
Tom ran into his walk-in closet, grabbing whatever on the go and hurriedly pulling his pyjamas off. He ended up dressed in an oversized red plaid shirt Harry had gotten him as a joke and a pair of ripped jeans. Tom made a disgusted sound at the back of his throat as he caught a look in the hallway mirror. He pulled a coat on at random and grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door, not bothering to answer a screaming Bellatrix about where the fuck he was going at arse o’clock in the morning.

  
By the time he got to the Weasleys’ rundown little hovel of a home in Ottery St-Catchpole, Tom was very much fuming. He was up at 0420, according to his watch despite the fact that he’d only fallen asleep at 2350-ish last night. His girlfriend was probably going to murder him when he got back home for disturbing her sleep and running off into the night without an explanation. And Harry _fucking_ James Potter had made him complicit in a _murder_ case. Life was damn beautiful and Tom couldn’t help angrily beating the crap out of his car wheel as he waited for his son-of-a-bitch of a best friend to fucking get out of that goddamn shack the Weasleys dared to call home. Fucking gravity-defying thing looked like it would collapse on top of his head any minute now. Tom thought he might even welcome it, if it meant getting away from Harry forever.

  
Said menace was now walking out of the house (read: being dragged out of it) with the insufferable Weasley twins on each side. For what might be the first time ever, Tom was treated to the twins looking like they might murder someone if given a single, somewhat passable, reason. That’s how angry they looked and Tom wondered what could possibly have shat on their parade. When they got to the car, they quite literally chucked Harry to Tom, who had to scramble to stop the young man’s face from getting chummy with the sidewalk.

  
“What gives, Weasels?” Tom asked, outraged and deliberately using the Malfoy-patented insult. The twin on the left, George if Tom was correct, glared at him with such hate that the lawyer almost went to check if his face hadn’t been set on fire. The twin on the right was the one who answered.

  
“Tell him to go get fucking sober,” the-one-who-was-possibly-Fred said. “Then he can come back and apologise to my sister like his life fucking depends on it!” They turned and started to walk away, when maybe-George turned back.

  
“And the _asshole’s_ car has been stolen, just by the way,” he growled before following his twin into the house and slamming the door shut. Tom almost took cover as he swore he saw the whole house shudder from the strength of it. He forced Harry’s limp body (was that a bruise forming on his cheek? James would _skin_ someone alive when he found out) into the passenger seat. He was about to get into the driver’s seat when the bane of his life ran out of the house, bushy brown hair fanning out in the slight breeze like a lion’s mane. Tom would take Harry any day over that woman.

  
“Thomas,” she greeted him, even though he’d repeatedly corrected her that Tom was not short for Thomas. It wasn’t short for anything! His name was Tom. End of the story. She went over to the passenger side and checked Harry’s face. “This is going to bruise.”

  
“No shit, Sherlock,” he sneered. Granger let out a sigh, as if she were a mother dealing with her particularly stubborn child. She brought out a prescription pad and scribbled upon it, then tore out the paper and handed it to Tom.

  
“Before you start griping again,” she said, “this is the good stuff. You won’t get it off prescription. Now off you go. And, _please,_ tell him not to tattle to his father. Say that Hermione begged.” Tom, childishly, stuck out his tongue, then nodded. Whoever had hit Harry, it would be best if James Potter never found out. Hermione chuckled and rounded the car, before reaching up to ruffle his hair. She didn’t wait around for him to start his diatribe about how condescending he thought the gesture was and how, the next time she did that, he would stick her hand into Percy Weasley’s where-the-sun-don’t-shine to keep his broomstick company. Tom flipped at her retreating figure and climbed into the car. Beside him, Harry stirred but did not wake up. Tom wondered if the hit he'd taken was to blame or if Harry had just gotten blackout drunk in the time it had taken for the young lawyer to get there.

  
**A** **few hours later…**

  
Tom had to shake Harry and pinch him in a few places before the young man finally woke up with a grunt. He glared at Tom through sleep-laden eyes and flipped him. The latter immediately smacked the back of his head and Harry swore and took a swing at the other’s head. Tom snorted, easily dodging.

  
“Take your clothes off,” he said. “We’re burning them.” Tom had taken them to a clearing, in the middle of Nowhere, Little Hangleton. He’d often come there as a little boy, before his dad died and his grandpa had relocated them to London. Harry made a grumpy face but complied, anyways. He moved about, rocking the car in such a way that someone on the outside would think people were having sex in it. Tom groaned and rolled his eyes as Harry grinned, having noticed the same thing. Finally, he was stripped down to his boxer shorts. He handed the clothes to Tom.

  
“D’you want my panties too,” he said with a leer. Tom sneered in disgust and climbed out of the car. He tossed the clothes into the snow and went to fish out the gasoline from the car’s boot. He came back to the clothes and drenched them with the flammable liquid and went back to the car.

  
“Get me the lighter, would you?” he asked Harry. As the other man rummaged through the compartment, Tom’s eyes fell upon Harry’s boots. “Those too.”

  
“What? My shoes?” Harry asked, suddenly horrified.

  
“Fuck you, bitch,” Tom snapped, angrily. “You killed a person and you don’t even care but god forbid you’d lose your favorite pair of _shoes.”_ Harry pursed his lips angrily and began to retort, but Tom cut him off. “Keep the shoes, we both go to jail. Lose ‘em, we never speak of this again. Your choice, you goddamn spoilt brat!” And the little bastard had the decency to look slightly shocked. He handed the shoes to Tom, looking like the world was ending. For the first time since they met, Tom thought that he sincerely wanted to beat Harry to a pulp. The son of a bitch had killed a man and turned his best friend into a criminal accomplice. Yet, he didn’t seem to feel even the least bit of remorse. Instead, he looked like he was about ready to die over a pair of shoes. Tom gritted his teeth and turned away. He set the shoes on top of the clothes and gave them an extra douse of gasoline before lighting the whole thing on fire. Then, he plonked down on the car hood and made his calls. Yaxley had already gotten rid of the body and Dolohov was in the process of dismantling the car. He would sell the parts to different people. Goyle Jr reported that no one had come forth to the police with reports of a hit-an-run or murder in that particular region. All in all, Harry would get away with it. Thankfully, according to Yaxley, the dead man was homeless and had no family to speak of.

  
No one would miss him. _Fuck._

  
Tom screamed at the inferno, probably startling Harry in the process. How he loathed the idea that he too might die like that one day. Tom had no one truly close to him and the one person who could claim such a thing was the raving sociopath currently sitting in his car. He found it rather hard to believe that Harry would miss him if he died. Maybe he’d protest at having his favourite toy stolen from him. But there was no way Harry James Potter would ever miss him. Of that, Tom was convinced. Maybe Bella would. Who knows?

  
When the cold made itself unbearable, Tom got back into the car. Harry stared at the dried tear tracks with a strange expression that Tom found himself unable to understand.

  
“You look cold,” Harry suddenly purred, seductively. “I could warm you up.” Tom glared at him.

  
“Fine,” he growled. He felt around for the lever and pushed his car seat back so that there was enough space to fit a small person like Harry between his legs and the steering wheel. “Get on your knees and suck like the whore you are.” Again, Harry’s eyes flashed with something Tom didn’t understand. But it was quickly gone and the young man was sliding, expertly, between his spread legs. He undid the button on Tom’s jeans, then grabbed the zip with his teeth. As he slowly lowered it down, Tom felt his cock spring to attention.

Harry was a beautiful little thing and the sight of him, willingly mouthing at Tom's dick through his underwear would have been enough to make him come, had he been a lesser man. As it was, Tom had rather good endurance. He gasped as Harry finally dragged his underwear away and took the tip into his mouth. Tom’s girth was enough that Harry’s small mouth was stretched wide, which only served to make him harder. Harry suckled at the glans before slowly taking more and more of Tom’s cock with each bob of his head. Tom let out a small moan and put his hands in Harry’s hair.

  
“Relax,” was all the warning he gave before he suddenly slammed himself all into Harry’s hot wetness. He knotted his fingers into the raven’s hair and set a punishing pace. Harry moaned delightedly around his shaft and the vibrations made Tom grunt like an animal in heat.

  
“Fuck,” Tom growled. “You like that, you little slut? You like having your mouth used like you’re some cum bucket?” Harry hummed in agreement and Tom thrust his hips up faster, barely giving the other any time to breathe. Tom could feel his orgasm building up, hands tightening in Harry’s hair. But right then, the devil struck.

  
With an obnoxious surge of strength, Harry pulled away from his cock, grinning mischievously. He gave Tom’s dick a final lick, before straddling the man’s hips.

  
“What the _fuck,_ Harry?” Tom complained. Harry gave him a kiss, by the end of which, they were both feeling hot and heavy and panting for more.

  
“Y’know that’s not where I like you to cum,” Harry explained. And Tom did know. He glided his hands down Harry’s back, then into his underwear. Harry moaned when he gave the young man’s ass a tight squeeze. He rolled his hips against Tom’s erection, spurring the latter to find his pretty little hole. As he circled Harry’s rim, Tom was suddenly reminded of something important.

  
“No lube,” he panted against Harry’s mouth. “Forgot to restock. We fuck too much in my car.” Harry whined into the kiss.

  
“It’s not like I’m a virgin,” he whimpered. “Just gimme your fingers. I’ll make them nice and wet.” Tom did just that and, boy, did that make him harder. Harry smirked as he, obviously, felt Tom’s erection grow bigger. Harry eventually let go of his fingers and Tom quickly brought them to Harry’s hole before they had the time to dry up. He pushed a finger in and frowned when it entered too easily.

  
“Am I still loose?” Harry asked, fucking himself back on the finger, with a little moan. “I had a little bit of fun with Dean, earlier.” Tom rolled his eyes in understanding and immediately plunged a second finger in.

  
“Did you let him do it without a condom?” he said as he looked for Harry’s sweet spot. Harry shook his head.

  
“No way!” he screamed as Tom finally found his target. “You’re… _ah…_ the only one… _un, fuck that’s good_ … allowed to cum inside. Oh god, just shove your damn cock in. I _need_ it!” Tom teased a little bit more before lining himself with Harry’s hole.

  
“How much do you need it?” he whispered against Harry’s collarbone.

  
“Oh god, please, please, please, _please,_ give it to me Tom. Fuck my brains out. Make me your little bitch. I wanna be your fuck-toy, please-” Tom slapped a hand over his mouth. Anymore and he might’ve come from just the dirty talk.

  
“You talk too much,” he hissed, before, finally, ramming up into Harry’s tight heat. Harry screamed in delight and smashed their mouths together as he rocked his hips back to meet with Tom’s thrusts. He keened into Tom’s mouth as the man abused his sweet spot continuously. Harry reached between them and started tugging at his own cock in time with Tom’s thrust and was soon spilling white liquid onto Tom’s shirt and his naked chest. And, as Harry reached orgasm, Tom felt him tightening and spasming around his shaft. It wasn’t long before he was cumming into Harry’s ass. They lay in afterglow for a while after that, chests heaving from the exercise. Tom kissed the top of Harry’s head and the young man looked up for a proper kiss. Tom obliged with a chuckle.

  
Outside, the fire was finally dying down and Tom, reluctantly, slipped his softening cock out of Harry’s ass. He tucked himself back in and got out to go check on the state of Harry’s clothing. They were mostly gone, shoes included, but Tom wanted them to be ashes, not just burnt clothes. So, he added more gasoline and picked up a random twig to stoke the fire.

  
**Later…**

  
Tom’s car rolled to a stop in front of Potter Mansion’s main door at 0650, exactly. Harry made to open the door but Tom stopped him. He turned the young man around and kissed him long and hard.

  
“I love you,” he told Harry. “You know that, right?” Harry nodded.

  
“I love you too,” he said. Tom kissed him again.

  
“Alright, now get out,” Tom said. He gave Harry a mischievous grin and put his mouth against the other man’s ear. “If you get to the office before noon, I’ll stay after hours and fuck you in every corner of James’ office.” Harry bit his lower lip, expression heavy with want.

  
“What’ll you tell to your girlfriend?” he asked.

  
“Who even gives a fuck?” Tom retorted. Harry grinned, kissed him quickly, and got out of the car.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Insults?


End file.
